In Spirit
by rosiesbar
Summary: Following his posting at the 4077th, the newly appointed C.O. Colonel Potter enjoys a friendly chat and a drink with a mysterious visitor.


**Author's Notes: **I was inspired by 'The General Flipped at Dawn' to write a truly torturous bit of sad fic following on from the events of 'Change of Command'.

_**In Spirit**_

"Well, it has to be said," Colonel Blake announced rising shakily to his feet and leaning a little heavily on the bar, "I sure like what you've done with the place."

"Glad to hear it," Colonel Potter replied with a sedate nod, raising a modest glass of rye to his predecessor.

"Yessssir," Henry slurred a little, slamming a hand emphatically into the puddle of beer he'd forgotten he'd made, "after that plane crash I couldn't think of any better place to recuperate other than the good ol' 4077th. That sorta thing can really shake a guy up!"

"I'm sure it could," Potter sympathised. "Well, with that in mind, maybe you'd better turn in. Get some rest to go with that recuperation as it were."

"How right you are," Henry replied. He hiccoughed and staggered towards the door.

Potter fell into step beside him, holding him up and steering him in the right direction towards the VIP tent. "There you go, Colonel. Home sweet home."

"Nooooo, wrong house!" Henry chuckled. He pointed towards the CO's tent. "Tha's where I live! I hate the colour but the neighbours are alright." He grinned.

"They sure are," Potter agreed with a smile, "but that's _my _tent now. Remember?"

Henry glanced between the two identical canvas structures and gave Potter a look of mock bewilderment. "Oops!"

With a chuckle, Potter nudged him towards the door and took his leave. "There you go - it's all flooding back now, I'm sure. You get some shuteye. Goodnight!"

Potter left his predecessor to turn in and made his way to his own humble dwelling.

"Oh, and Colonel Potter?"

Henry's voice made him stop and turn. The previously merry Blake suddenly looked very sombre, a mournful look in his eyes that had once been glinting with drunken glee. "Yes, what is it?"

"One more thing," Henry said. He seemed to have sobered up very suddenly, his tone serious, his expression one of deep concern. "Take care of Radar for me. He's a good kid."

Potter wondered why Radar could possibly need taking care of. I mean sure, the company clerk was young, a little awkward, and rather green around the gills at times, but he seemed cheerful enough. But it wasn't Potter's place to question the concerns of a man about to leave a commission he had evidently grown very fond of. "I will, Henry," he replied. "I will."

With that promise, Potter turned and headed off to bed.

The next morning brought with it something of a headache, but Potter woke at 6am and set about his duties regardless. As they strolled across the camp, Radar, the young clerk, scampered about after him faithfully, clipboard in hand, anticipating his every order.

"I'll organise a stock take of the supply room," Radar announced a microsecond or two before Potter asked him to organise a stock take of the supply room, "and then get you a copy of the duty roster," just as it occurred to Potter to ask for one.

A little bewildered, Potter thanked him and headed for his office. And then, Potter gave an order the clerk _didn't _expect: "Oh and get someone freshen up the VIP tent, would?"

Radar looked at him blankly. "Why? Are we expecting someone?

Potter blinked. "Well, I.." he began, gesturing to the aforementioned tent before trailing off. Suddenly the events of the previous night seemed a little hazy. Snippets of conversation bled through the fog of amnesia that had descended upon him: an oddly familiar, friendly drunk with a Illinois accent, a confusion over whose tent was whose, and Radar's name, spoken with great affection.

"Nobody's used the VIP tent in weeks, sir," Radar told him. "But if we got company comin' then I can spruce it up a little."

"No, no," Potter assured him with a wave of his hand. "You'll have to forgive an old man trying to get his bearings first thing in the morning. The old brainbox seems to be getting a little muddled over the events of last night." He tapped his head and smiled.

"Oh, last night, Sir?" Radar volunteered helpfully. "You had a drink with Cap'ns Pierce and Hunnicutt and fell asleep at your desk. I had to point you in the direction of your tent and put out your cigar."

Potter frowned. That explained a lot. "I did, huh?" He made a mental note never to accept drinks off the surgical staff again. Well, maybe occasionally.

"Oh, don't worry, Sir! It was no trouble. Colonel-" Radar paused for a moment. His smile vanished. His words faltered. He started again. "Colonel Blake used to do it all the time."

There was a sadness in Radar's voice that Potter had never noticed before, and his mind told him that now something he had heard made sense, but he didn't know what that something was. "Thanks, Corporal," Potter said warmly. "Well, I'd better get cracking. And you, be a good man and that stock take and that roster sorted, and then get yourself a nice cup of coffee. Tell 'em it's for me - they give you the good stuff that way."

He gave Radar a conspiratorial wink, and Radar saluted in return and ran off to fulfil his request. As Potter watched him scamper off, an eerie but reassuring presence seemed to gather around him, and Potter made a vow that he would do everything he could to keep the promise he had never made to a man he had never met.

E*N*D


End file.
